Insecurity
by the ramblin rose
Summary: Caryl, ZA. Season 10/Post Season 10. Oneshot. It had been coming for a long time. There were insecurities to be dealt with, but there were still also some surprises in store.


**AN: This was inspired by my bad influences. **

**I one hundred percent give you a smut warning.**

**There are some passing mentions of other relationships, because they did happen, but nothing graphic.**

**I own nothing from the Walking Dead.**

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! **

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Carol could barely breathe and she didn't care. Every time the kisses broke, she went back for more of Daryl's mouth. He slammed her into the wall and she heard the picture frame near her rattle like it might drop to the floor from the little nail that held it in the wall. She broke one hand away from Daryl long enough to reach out and feel for the door. It was almost closed, but she pushed it the rest of the way closed like it might somehow shield anyone else who might venture into the house from knowing what was happening upstairs—what was happening, really, by accident.

It was the happiest accident of Carol's life, and they were only just kissing.

Carol had dreamed of kissing Daryl at least a thousand times—a million times, even—and in a million different scenarios. In each of her imaginings, though, it was a struggle to get him to kiss her. It took effort and time.

It had taken effort and time, but she was beginning to think that maybe she hadn't been direct enough.

He'd come to her door, so poorly dried off from his shower that the clothes he wore clung to him and his hair dripped just slightly, and she'd decided to throw caution to the wind and to give up any attempt to be coy.

He was just dropping a dinner tray off—a tray that was forgotten outside the door even now—and he'd asked her the same question that he asked her any time she'd opened the door before he'd put the tray down and descended the steps.

"Do you need anything else?"

"You," she'd responded without hesitation, surprising even herself when it had escaped her lips.

Once upon a time, he would have thought she was teasing. He would have elbowed her, pushed her, or even pinched her like they were in the schoolyard. He would have blushed and told her to "stop" with her joking around.

Maybe that's what she expected him to do this time.

But something had changed, and Carol was certainly happy that it had. He'd stood only a moment outside the door with a flash of hesitation on his features, and then he'd stepped over the tray and stepped inside like he was the one who hadn't eaten, and Carol was all that he wanted to combat his practical starvation.

Everything in Carol burned in response to the passion behind the kisses and the hunger. Everything in her begged for more. She was unashamed to show him as much enthusiasm as she felt radiating off of him, and she raised her leg to rub the back of his leg with her heel while he pinned her against the wall and licked at her neck. She held her head back as far as she could to allow him to suck and taste every inch of her skin that he seemed determined to sample.

As the kissing continued and intensified, Carol thought she'd be driven crazy by the throbbing desire she felt to see more of him—to feel more of him.

She'd dreamed of it far too many times while she'd pleasured herself and, admittedly, while she'd tolerated the attempts of other men to pleasure her. Her imagination was all that had saved her many times from going long enough without an orgasm that she might have convinced herself she was unable to have one—just as Ed had once suggested.

It was Carol that finally used the weight of her body to push off from the wall and turn Daryl around to begin directing him toward the bed.

She'd already directed him out of his shirt. She'd already ran her hands over his chest and shoulders—down his arms. She'd scratched gently at his back and her chest had ached as her fingertips bumped over cruel scars.

She understood his scars, and he would understand hers.

She lost her own nightshirt and offered him her breasts—something new that he hadn't seen yet—and he came toward her, seemingly transfixed by her nipples to the point that all he could do was follow her in desperation to have the opportunity to explore them with same zest he'd used to taste her neck, shoulders, and collarbone.

She was able to guide him as accurately as if she'd been tugging some kind of invisible leash or tether that tied him to her. He followed her to the bed. He followed her onto the bed. She tugged at his hair as he sucked on her nipples and licked a trail down her body to the panties that were already soaked through with her desire and her anticipation.

When she pushed at her underwear, Daryl quickly caught on to what she wanted and he dragged them off of her. She moved her legs to help him and, before she knew it, her panties had disappeared into some oblivion where the rest of their clothes were going piece by piece. Carol hoped, too, that they would all be banished there soon.

When Daryl latched onto her, Carol grabbed at the blanket on her bed and twisted it up in her hands. She felt like she needed something to hold onto because she felt, honestly, like she might actually find a way to fall off the world with the way that her head was spinning. Half of her expected to wake up and find that it was all some elaborate, wonderful dream and Daryl wasn't teasing her clit relentlessly with his tongue. Her orgasm rocked her body and blocked out her ability to think for a moment, and she was perfectly pleased to have her thoughts scrambled for a second so that nothing else remained except for her pleasure.

Carol's body jerked outside of her control as Daryl teased her with his fingers like he was trying to coax another orgasm to follow closely after the one that left her brain feeling fuzzy. He got what he wanted, even though Carol might have doubted that her body had it to offer.

When Carol could find any semblance of control over her body—still feeling drunk with every emotion that was coursing through her—she sat up to reach for Daryl and he came kissing her. She tasted herself on his tongue. She tasted what he tasted.

She wasn't as repulsed as Ed had led her to believe she would be if she only understood the horror behind what she'd asked him to do—only once. And Daryl, certainly, didn't seem repulsed.

She'd never allowed anyone else to taste her because she'd been sure that she was disgusting. Daryl had seemed to enjoy her, though, and it was only her wrapping herself around him and kissing him that kept him from going back for more—she was sure of that. She worked her hands gently down his chest and over his abdomen. She rubbed her fingertips against the soft hair that trailed from his navel down to the top of his jeans—the ones he'd thrown on after his shower. Carol kissed him, distracting him from the pull that kept him trying to go back to where he'd been before—his fingers still working her even as she drew his attention away from her pussy for a moment—and she worked her hand into the band of his jeans to try to free him from the pants.

As soon as the button popped free from the button hole, though, Daryl backed up and off of Carol like she'd stabbed him in the gut.

Her heartbeat picked up dramatically at his surprised—and almost angry—reaction.

"Don't," he said.

He backed away and, for moment, Carol sat stunned among the gatherings of her disturbed quilt and laughed to herself in confusion.

"Did I—read this wrong?" She asked, her breathing still ragged. "I thought—you wanted to…fuck me. Make love to me. Whatever you want to call it."

Daryl paced in front of her. He chewed at his thumb. He tucked his hand under his elbow, stopped for a moment like he was considering something, dropped his hand, and paced again. He looked like the epitome of discomfort and Carol didn't know what she'd done or how to help him. He even made a sound that sounded almost like the beginnings of a desperate cry—like a child that wanted something they were being offered but had worked themselves, already, into such a state that they could neither realize that they were getting their wish nor enjoy it.

He looked, a little, like he might cry and it tugged at Carol's chest as surely as everything else he'd done had tugged at other very distinct regions of her body.

She sighed.

"You don't want to fuck me, is that it?"

"No," Daryl said. "I mean—yeah—I mean…I don't know how the hell to say what I mean."

"Just say what you mean," Carol said.

He pointed at her, almost like he was angry with her. And he seemed a little angry, or perhaps frustrated. Carol was feeling frustrated, herself, so she could understand the sentiment. Still, she didn't feel like she was in a position to complain too much. No man had ever done to her what Daryl had just done to her. She owed him, at least, the common courtesy of listening to what he had to say while he gnawed at his fingers—fingers that must still taste like her.

He stopped, even, the anxious gnawing for a moment to suck one of his fingers with the same kind of satisfaction she'd once seen him use to suck batter off his finger after she'd let him lick the bowl before baking a cake.

The gesture and the sheer look of satisfaction on his face—she was almost certain he even let his tongue dart out to lick his lips afterward—sent a jolt through her body again and she scrambled to her knees on the bed, ready to practically beg him for more.

"Whatever you want, Daryl," was all that she managed to say. And she meant it. She trusted him like she'd never trusted anyone in her life. She loved him. And she wanted to be with him desperately. She'd wanted to be with him for years.

"I wanna," Daryl said. "But—I want you to…I want it to be good. For you."

Carol swallowed quickly and purposefully to choke back laughter.

"It will be," she assured him.

"See—you don't know that!" Daryl barked, a little of that anger or frustration bubbling up again.

Carol raised herself up and walked toward the edge of the bed on her knees. Daryl stepped closer to her like, for a moment, he'd forgotten that he was avoiding her. His eyes dropped down to her breasts again. This time she was sure she didn't imagine it. He licked his lips.

She smiled at him and held her arms out to welcome him back.

"I am enjoying it," she assured him as he came forward with a glimmer of that earlier hunger. "I just want to enjoy it more. I want to make sure that—you enjoy it. Give you everything you could want. Come here, Daryl. Let me take care of you." She reached for his pants, again, and he stopped short.

Carol sighed, a little frustrated. She edged a little closer to the edge of the bed on her knees. She reached for his pants and he stepped a step back.

"Do you not want to do this?" Carol asked.

"You gonna fuckin' laugh," Daryl said. "And then it's gonna be you that ain't gonna want to do this when you see what the hell's wrong with it."

Carol felt, for just a second, like she'd been splashed with cold water.

"You mean—with your…"

"With my dick," Daryl growled.

Carol cleared her throat.

"Is—what—what exactly is wrong with it, Daryl?" Carol asked. She tried to keep her face as blank as possible. She wanted to be as judgment free as she could be, especially since she had no idea what he might reveal to her.

"I'd rather just do what we was doin'," Daryl said. "I liked it. Didn't you like it?"

"Of course, I liked it," Carol said.

"Then why ain't it good enough?" Daryl asked. "You won't let me keep—keep suckin' on you. Rubbin' you like that."

Carol's face burned warm.

"You like that?" She asked.

Daryl considered her like he didn't know if he'd just said something he shouldn't have. He nodded his head, just barely.

"Tastes good," he offered. "And you're—real soft. Like silk or somethin'."

Carol smiled to herself. Her face burned hotter than she was sure it had ever burned before to hear such praise over her pussy, but her pussy practically burned in response, too, with its own desire. Clearly her body appreciated the praise and wanted to reward Daryl with more opportunity to enjoy the feeling of silk on his tongue and fingertips and to taste what he clearly found pleasurable.

Carol shifted in response to the growing ache between her legs as it surged up with a vengeance. What he'd done before to quell her need was fading fast.

"Wouldn't you like to feel—that silk—somewhere else?" Carol offered. "Just—tell me what's wrong. I'm sure we can…work around it. Somehow."

Daryl came to her, then. Whatever was tugging him toward her was stronger than that which was pulling him back. His mouth crashed against hers and she indulged the kiss because he needed the fortification of getting what he wanted at that moment. She tugged at his hair and scratched his scalp. She appreciated the renewed urgency with which he trailed his mouth down her body before he latched, sighing with satisfaction, onto her right nipple and toyed with it with his tongue until she'd slid off her heels to sit more comfortably on the quilt—and more comfortably, her body decided, was more prepared for what she hoped was coming.

"Just tell me what's wrong," Carol said. "We'll figure it out. I want to make you happy, Daryl. I want to make you feel good—every way I can."

"It's too small," Daryl said.

"What?" Carol asked. She'd barely heard him, and she was almost certain that she hadn't heard him correctly.

"It's too small," Daryl said, lifting his head to look at her. He looked genuinely heartbroken. His face was red with embarrassment.

Carol wasn't sure how small they were talking about, but she'd heard stories about men with tiny dicks. She'd heard stories of some that were so small that they'd barely been more than enlarged clits.

Ed had been what she might have considered average sized. He was the largest man she'd been with at the time since he'd married her as a virgin. But she'd learned that he was on the smaller side of average since she'd entertained others.

Still, for Daryl, she could figure it out. They could figure it out.

She took his face in her hands.

"I'm sure it's fine," she assured him. "And—no matter what? We'll figure it out. As long as it works—we'll figure it out. And even if it doesn't…" She added the last bit with some hesitation. "Does it—work?" Daryl nodded and Carol felt some of her anxiety release her. "OK," she said. "OK—then, we'll make it work."

"Might not—be no good at it," Daryl offered somewhat sheepishly.

Carol couldn't help herself. She scratched her fingers through his hair as she pulled him toward her and kissed his lips. He responded with enough passion that she felt very nearly choked by her emotions and his enthusiasm alike.

"I can't believe that," she breathed out when the kiss broke. "You're so good at everything else…"

"Never done it," Daryl said. "I mean—with myself but…not with anybody else. Any of it."

"Any of it?" Carol asked. The confession surprised her given how much pleasure he'd already given her, but it didn't surprise her, on the other hand, given her knowledge of Daryl and his shyness and sensitivity. He shook his head. "Well you're already incredible," Carol assured him. "And I'm—excited—for everything that's…that I'm sure is coming. But—Daryl? If you haven't been with anyone before…how do you know it's so small?"

"Merle," Daryl said blankly. He shrugged his shoulders. "Weren't never as big as his. Weren't far off but—he used to say that he was…you know…normal. So, I fuckin' weren't. I've always kinda hid from everybody else."

Carol nodded her understanding. It explained a lot about why Daryl was always so careful to put distance between himself and others when it came to bathing or relieving himself. She felt some of her nerves, too, untangle themselves. They were, more than likely, talking about something that was just a little below average. At least, now, she knew that she would have more to work with than her imagination had led her to believe.

"Come on," she urged, pulling him toward her as she moved herself to lie back on the bed again. She kissed him and slipped her hand down once more to scratch at the soft hair near his pants. He deepened the kiss and she moaned into his mouth. She felt him when—overwhelmed by desire—he thrust his hips forward and into her, pressing her into the mattress for a second.

While he was distracted, Carol eased her hand down. She found the popped button. She found the zipper. She slid it gently and carefully down. Daryl moved to suck at her neck and he thrust into her again, apparently not realizing her hand was between them now. Her fingertips found the band to his underwear—boxers, she knew, were his preference since she'd washed them for years and imagined finally being able to put her hand inside them in an entirely different way.

She stopped, though, as her fingers worked their way lower.

She expected him to be trapped, perhaps in a certain position by the pants. She expected to be able to free him. But it wasn't as easy as she expected and she pulled her hand back, feeling almost like she'd been playing one of those riddle games and stuck her hand into a dark box to find something entirely unlike what she expected.

Daryl pulled away from her when she freed her hand.

"What?" He asked. He looked almost prepared to have his feelings hurt beyond measure.

"Take your pants off?" Carol asked, raising her eyebrows at him.

"What?" He asked.

"Take your pants off?" Carol asked again.

Daryl considered it and clearly thought it was reasonable, given the circumstances. He stood up, nodded at her, and after one nervous movement of brushing his hand through his hair, he pushed his pants and boxers down like he was ripping off a band aid and stepped out of them.

His hand went, immediately, to stroke himself.

"It's bigger when it's hard like this," Daryl offered.

Carol swallowed. Her mind practically buzzed as she tried to figure out what to say. How to respond.

"That bad?" Daryl asked. It snatched Carol out of her stupor and she looked at him, though she could barely take her eyes away from his hand as it worked its way up and down the length of him.

"I'm sorry," Carol said. "Is that—what you were warning me about?"

He furrowed his brows at her.

"That's my fuckin' dick, Carol," he growled.

"And it is—well—frankly, Daryl…it's enormous," Carol choked out. "And I'm a little—if we're being honest? I'm a little scared."

Daryl laughed to himself. He relaxed, though, visibly.

"You don't gotta be an asshole about it," Daryl said. He came toward her. He kissed her even as she protested that she wasn't being an asshole at all. She let him push her back on the bed because she wanted him to do just that and it felt, for a moment, like he could read her mind. She relaxed with his kisses. She appreciated when he slipped his hand down to work her clit. She welcomed the further exploration of his hands and tongue.

She forgot, for a moment, her surprise over the dick that Daryl had claimed was small—small enough to nearly make him back out of sex with her entirely—a dick that she would have argued was easily four times the size of "small" as she had imagined it, and that was considering her revamped idea of things.

She only remembered his warning when, after bringing her back to orgasm with his tongue and fingers—and coming back to share with her the flavor that he seemed to enjoy a great deal—he begged entrance by pressing hard against her.

Her body wanted him badly enough that it immediately tried to accommodate him. She felt herself flood as her body tried to produce more liquid to please him and to earn her more pleasure. But she also felt the stinging and burning of her body trying desperately to stretch too far and too fast.

She hissed at Daryl and dug her fingers into his shoulder—the other hand tugged hard enough at his hair, by accident, that he hissed back at her and froze entirely.

"You're hurtin' me," he offered.

"You're hurting me," she responded.

"Stop fuckin' around," Daryl said. "I appreciate it, but you don't gotta try to make me feel better. He ducked his head to kiss her and she allowed him just that much movement. When he moved his hips, though, to force his way deeper inside of her, she tightened her grip on his hair once more. He hissed at her again.

"It doesn't fit," Carol breathed out. "I am not trying to make you feel better. It's enormous—Daryl. Too big. It hurts."

He laughed nervously.

"You fuckin' with me," he said.

"The last time something that size was inside my vagina," Carol growled, "My goal was to get her out. I got to name her and bring her home the next day."

"You serious?" Daryl asked, hovering over her.

"I'm serious," Carol said. She allowed herself to pant. He held still. She could feel his concern now that he realized she was serious. He was still, despite what he probably wanted to do, and she could feel her body relaxing. It was already becoming better, and she sighed a little over the slight shift toward pleasure.

"What do you need?" Daryl asked.

Carol surprised herself when she moaned in response. The question—one simple question—in that tone of voice sent a wave of pleasure coursing through her body. She released his hair, certain he wouldn't move without permission, even if it killed him, and she touched his face to soothe away his concern with her fingertips and a kiss.

"Just a little time to adjust," she assured him. "And…maybe…"

"Yeah?" He asked when she hesitated.

"It's a lot to ask, maybe," Carol said.

"Anything you want," Daryl said. Carol smiled to herself. She believed him. She wasn't used to asking for anything she needed or wanted, though. Even asking for time to adjust felt foreign to her. There were things, after all, that she'd been simply expected to bear in silence before.

But Daryl made her feel safe asking for things.

"There's a tube in the nightstand drawer," Carol said. "Lubricant. It'll—pick up some of the slack where my body leaves off. Get things moving easier. Cool things down a bit…in a good way."

Daryl nodded his head. Without hesitation, he left Carol's body and went for the tube. She was amazed at the difference she felt when he was out of her. She recognized, immediately, that she would feel the effects of this night the next day—and she could only hope that nobody recognized an unfamiliar hitch in her proverbial giddy-up.

When he returned, before he began to apply the lubricant, he brought his mouth directly to her neck. He ran the length of her neck with his tongue and she shivered. Naturally, and without requiring her input, her hips rolled toward him. He suckled her earlobe.

"Really?" He breathed into her ear. There was a hint of laughter there.

"What?" Carol asked.

"Didn't His Majesty like pomegranates?" Daryl asked.

"They grew them at the Kingdom," Carol said. "But—I don't want to talk about him now."

Daryl held the tube up. He waved it from side to side. It was flavored like the fruit.

"I swear," Carol said. "It was just the only tube they had at the store I raided. And beggars can't be choosers." She shook her head at him. "Nobody's ever used that except me."

"It's alright," Daryl said. He opened the tube, squirted almost a handful of the lubricant into his palm, and very confidently stroked his dick. He'd started to lose some interest or enthusiasm in the moments since he'd pulled free from her, but he surged back to life with the promise of renewed contact. "If my dick's all that you say it is, I'm about to put the great king outta your mind."

Carol appreciated the rush of confidence. Her body appreciated it, too, on all levels. She turned herself to meet him and opened herself up to him.

"You already have," Carol assured him. "Nobody matters to me, Daryl, except you."

This time, with the added assistance of the copious amounts of lubricant and the fact that Daryl very carefully controlled the speed at which he entered her body, Daryl was able to couch himself as far inside Carol's body as her body allowed. When he was fully inside her, he stayed still a moment. He kissed her neck and collarbone. He nipped at the skin there and nuzzled close to her ear. And then, he let out sound that was almost like his earlier cry of desperation.

"Go ahead," she assured him, bringing her own mouth close to his ear and kissing the side of his face. "Go."

"You sure?" Daryl asked. "Don't wanna hurt you."

"Take whatever you want," Carol said. "Whatever you need. You feel good to me. Perfect."

To spur him on, she rolled her hips. It didn't take much to get him started, though, and once he was started, it was clear that he was as hungry for what was happening then as he had been for anything else. Carol held on to him. She wrapped her arms around him. She kissed him when she could. She closed her eyes and drank it all in—the feel of him, the smell of him, the taste of his mouth.

She enjoyed the sensation as pain gave way to pleasure and everything she'd dreamed of for years blended from fantasy into reality.

She rode out Daryl's orgasm with him when it came, and she held onto him as he milked everything he could out of the final hard and determined thrusts that remained before he practically dropped on top of her and buried his face in the crook of her neck to breathe out his praise for her.

When he rolled beside her, she rolled to meet him. She helped him lift the cover and they both worked their way under it. She enjoyed the kisses and the stroke of his fingertips as he trailed them across her skin and drank in the remaining contact that lingered between them now that the other connection had been broken.

"Thank you," she said. "That was—incredible."

"You weren't so bad yourself," he teased, clearly feeling a burst of confidence after what Carol now knew was his first time—though she would have never guessed it from his skill level.

"And you're not small at all," Carol assured him. "In fact—you're way, way bigger than average. Bigger than big, actually. You don't have to be ashamed around—anyone." He smiled at her. "But—I still don't want you showing that off. Not if—this is something that's going to happen again." He hummed at her in the affirmative.

"Ditto," he said. Under the cover he dropped a hand down and stroked her clit with his fingertips. Almost without thinking, she moved enough to trap his hand with her legs. He laughed to himself and adjusted his hand to continue to stroke her. "I like the idea that—your pussy's mine," Daryl offered.

"As long as you want it," Carol assured him.

"Coulda been sooner," Daryl lamented. "Couldn't it? If I hadn't been so damned stupid…"

"It doesn't matter now," Carol said. "Now? This is all that matters. This and the fact that—and I hope you won't leave the bed, but—I love you."

Daryl smiled at her. His eyelids were drooping. He touched her lips with his finger—the one that he'd used to stroke her, and she accepted it. She sucked his finger, rubbing her tongue against the pad of it. He pulled his finger back and pressed his lips against hers.

"I love you, too, woman," he said. "Only wish—I'd said it before."

"Don't worry," Carol breathed out. "We've got a long time ahead of us."


End file.
